A fair deal from a foul ball

A discolored baseball sits among my sports memorabilia on a bookcase in our guest bedroom. In contrast to the ultra-white balls in protective cases autographed by Cal Ripken, Eddie Murray and others, this one has smudges and bears no one's signature. It's the only foul ball I've ever nabbed while attending hundreds of major league games.

But it's much more than a novelty item. It represents my gratitude to UTA for shaping my career.

My association with the University began in 1985. I had graduated from Baylor a year earlier, as clueless about the future as when I entered college. I eventually decided there had to be some way to parlay my love of sports into a career.

What does it take to be a sports writer, I wondered. I headed to my hometown newspaper, the Corsicana Daily Sun, for advice. The sports editor suggested journalism classes. He had hired an intern from UTA. She was good, he said, and spoke highly of the department.

So off to Arlington I went. I took 30 hours from some talented and dedicated professors: Bill Stone, Roy Hamric, Larry Elwell, George Rhoades. It was in one of Hamric's classes that I learned of an internship at a local electronic news network. I got the job, was eventually hired full time as sports editor, then promoted to news editor. A couple of years later, Donna Darovich hired me as a writer in UTA's Public Affairs Office. In 1996, I became director of University Publications.

With UTA's help, I'd gone from aimless to established.

In talking with graduates for our series on alumni in the workplace, one after another touted the University's practical approach to education. They were a step ahead of their peers, they said, because their classroom experiences involved real-world applications.

So did mine. My professors knew what it took to succeed in journalism, and they were masterful at imparting their knowledge using creative, hands-on methods.

My favorite class was a special topics course on sports writing taught by the late Charles Arrendell, then chair of the Communication Department. He took five of us to a sparsely attended Rangers game late in the 1985 season.

A little-known Oakland A's rookie named Jose Canseco hit a foul ball that rolled into the tarp used to cover the infield when it rains. As two classmates held my legs, I leaned over the railing and grabbed the souvenir.

The ball becomes more valuable to me every day.

P. S. Notice anything different about this issue?